


Templar King

by TheFlamingNymph



Series: Different Facets, Different Fates [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Anger, Angry Kissing, Angst, Angst and Feels, Confrontations, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Feels, Hurt, Leaving, Lost Love, Romance, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4410551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlamingNymph/pseuds/TheFlamingNymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Landsmeet ended ten years earlier with the Bastard Prince taking the throne, and duty driving a wedge between him and his daring mage of the Circle. A wedge they have danced around for years, letting it drive in deeper and separating them further until the Mage-Templar war and her final disappearance driving the tension between them to a head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The messenger caught his hunting party at the gates, his breath wheezing in and out through slightly parted lips as he tried to gather himself enough to deliver his message. A fist clapped to his chest as he took a knee, his head bowed in reverence to his king. “Your Majesty, the Hero of Ferelden is at the Warden compound. She wanted none to know she was there, but you had requested--”

Alistair’s heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to be in his throat or the pit of his stomach, as it always did whenever he thought of the woman who had made him king. He thanked the messenger before separating from the hunting party, driving his horse towards the Warden compound. If she didn’t want anyone to know she was there, it meant she was planning to slip away again, and this time he wouldn’t let her. No one had heard from her in over a year, and the majority of Ferelden had been ready to consider her dead, but Alistair had always known better. She stayed away because of him.

He found her in the library, picking ancient tomes off the shelves with careful reverence. She carefully considered the words embossed on each spine before choosing a small selection, guiding them into a small leather back. She was much as he remembered, her hair was longer, the armor was newer, but she still stood with her weight more on her left leg than her right, as if leaning to the weight of Vigilance. She hadn’t heard him arrive, that much was obvious to him, and he was grateful that the hunting leathers were made for silence.

“Ready to disappear again, are you?” He asked, watching as she spun, her hand wrapped around Vigilance’s hilt before she registered who was talking and her face darkened further. He wished that expression didn’t still have the power to hurt him, but it did.

“Your Majesty.” She clapped her fist to the double griffon breast plate she wore, bending at the waist and inclining her head. “Simply gathering a few items before my next excursion.” The formality of her tone traced the distance that had done nothing but grow since his coronation ten years previously.

“It would have been nice to be informed my city would be playing host to the Hero of Ferelden.” He spoke equally as formal, allowing himself to play her game.

“It is not. I leave again within the next two hours. I beg leave of you, your highness, to finish my preparations.” She gestured to the half filled pack, her left leg locking as she adjusted her stance. It was Warden silver-and-blue, but a design all her own. No doubt a creation of Wade’s. Before he even answered she had the pack in hand again, grabbing one last dusty tome before heading for the door, but he hadn’t moved, and she wouldn’t approach him too closely.

“Where are you going?” He asked, searching her face. She was closed off, and he could see the darkness under her green eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw, the weary droop of her shoulders, and his heart hurt for her. Time was not being kind to his fellow Warden. He wondered briefly if she had experienced the false Calling as well. How could she not?

“Towards the store rooms for rations, Your Highness.” She gestured for him to move first, as gracefully as she could without looking like she was trying to order the king. A small flash of amusement ran through him at the thought that technically, she was his commanding officer, but he was a king, and he wanted to speak to this woman that seemed to avoid him so thoroughly.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” His tone was growing harder, tired of this game of hers. He hated this chasm that had grown between them. He hated that they both had agreed to it, as much as they could.

“I’m afraid that’s Warden business.” There was a new anger to her game though. Usually she was just unfailingly polite, using the correct words at the correct times like she was born to political intrigue, but now, there was a sharpness to her words that wasn’t there before.

“I do believe I am yet still a Warden.”

“And, if you wish it, I will give you a full report upon my return. Until such time, discretion is the mode in which I must conduct this. Now, if you would, Your Majesty, I must prepare, and for that, you must leave.” Her arms crossed in front of her, her expression hardening further.

“Then allow me one last question, Warden-Commander.” He hurled the title like an insult, his patience breaking with her stubborn insistence on political correctness.

“As you wish.”

“What is it I have done to earn this ire of yours?”

And as quick as that, her composure cracked. Her eyes flung open wide and looking at him like he was insane for even asking, or not knowing. Her breath escaped in a forceful snort and her head shook back and forth slowly. “You have to ask?”

“Yes, go ahead and laugh. The daft king seems to be unable to read spiteful women.” His words were more biting that he wanted, but, Maker, was he angry with all of this.

“Do you even know what they call you behind your back? Do you know the whispers that roam the country side, said as praise on one side and a curse of the other? _Templar King_. You drove the mages from Redcliffe!” Her hands were gesturing, wider arcs and movements the louder she got, her cheeks flushed as the anger poured out of her. “From what I understand, _your majesty_ , was that they were afraid for their lives, and some wretched scum took advantage of them! You blamed them and drove them out all based on one man!”

“And there it is! You really do think I’m a daft fool, don’t you?” He threw up his hands at her, hurt riding deep. “Do tell, _Warden-Commander_ , how would that situation have been handled in your perfect world where everything has a neat little answer?”

“I would have listened to them! I would have tried helping! I wouldn’t shove them out into a world filled with people that wanted them dead! Did you even hear them out, Alistair?” His title was gone, her tone more raw, exposed, personal. “If circumstances were different, I’d have been among them.”

 _You’d be dead at the Conclave._ He wanted to say. _You would be too important to leave behind._ But those were words for a different life, one where they didn’t spar with words and shield themselves with titles, using their names like grenades. “If you were among them, they wouldn’t have been so stupid to begin with, nor so helpless.”

His backhanded praise threw her off guard, but did nothing for her anger. “And that makes it fine? They were alone in a world that wanted them dead! We’ve been there! And it’s a frightening place to be! If the Inquisition hadn’t helped them, how many mages would have been left to Thedas? I don’t know if you noticed, but even as feared as we are, Thedas needs us!”

So this was the source of her anger. In truth, he rarely thought of her as a mage, with the sword on her hip and her medium armor, even if it was reminiscent of robes. He remembered the Circle ten years earlier, and how much she had been shaken by what she lost. He supposed he was realizing a little too late that the ordeals of the world had probably wiped out the last of her previous life while she was away. His heart hurt for her.

“They survived, and they’re free now.” She had to have heard about Leliana becoming Divine and dissolving the Circles. If she heard about Redcliffe, she must have heard about that.

“No thanks to you.” She spat, finally just heading for the narrow gap between him and the door, but he caught her arm, not letting her pass. She spun on him like a shocked cat, her lips curled back ready to lash out again, but he crushed them with his own.

She went rigid against him, except for her lips which had always been soft to him, despite her insistance that they were always chapped and couldn’t be pleasant. He wondered why he hadn’t done this before, why he had just let the chasm between them grow and grow as it became more apparent they didn’t know how to handle parting on terms that left them both still in love with the other. He wondered why he had let duty seem like such an important thing as to make him set aside the one bright spot he had had in the darkest year of his life.

He wondered why she had let it come to pass, her voice being the one that rang the loudest in that Maker-damned chamber as she decided the fate of not only them, but the entirety of Ferelden, a country that she knew little of, save what dusty tomes in her gilded cage told her. He kissed her with the repressed passion of a decade, of wanting and waiting and denying. With all the emotions of fear and worry. He felt her hands pressing against his chest, trying to push him away, and for one selfish moment he wasn’t going to let her.

But as badly as he wanted her, wanting her touch, and he love, he could never take it by force. So he took a step back.


	2. Chapter 2

She was moving away from him, her booted steps heavy and loud in the empty compound. Though it was still the official base in name for the Wardens in Ferelden, Vigil’s Keep had become it in practice, and the building was now only used on the rare occasion the Warden-Commander was staying in the capital, and even then she had a room at the palace she used. She hadn’t really returned for more than short visits since she had first left for Amaranthine. She kept contact by letter, usually, when she could send them, but even those had been short and brisk and businesslike.

He followed her, his head still spinning from the kiss, but he couldn’t let her leave like this. He was tired of the position she had put him in, glued to the throne as he was, having to watch her back as she walked away from him more than once. There was a time when she had never made him leave her side. Where it had been unspoken that he was coming with her, no matter the danger. The templar training in him though, as buried as it was after so much time, was trying to warn him not to corner a mage of her power.

The chainmail covering her robes jingled and clanged with the force of her steps, throwing open the door of the store room, filled with sparse rations for Wardens passing through to fill up on. The remainder of her pack was filled with dried meats and hardtack, before she cinched it up, throwing a glare at him when she found him following. “Leave.” The one word carried so much force, so much authority, that it was no wonder why men older than herself willingly followed her command. But her lips were still flushed from the pressure of his against hers, color was pinking in her cheeks and her chest heaved with her emotion. It was as much emotion as he had seen on her face in the scarce visits in ten years time. His feet didn’t move though, and her face was twisting into anger again. “I said leave!”

“Tell me where you’re going.”

Her jaw was set hard and she just pushed past him, obviously hurrying through her preparation plans faster than she had anticipated. It seemed she couldn’t be free of him soon enough, and that hurt. Her steps were quicker on the stone, harder, her body tense and ready to spring at any moment, but still he pursued, despite the nagging at the back of his head saying not to press her, not to force this. Now she was packing saddle bags, rolling up a tent and grabbing blankets, a cook pan, a tinder box. She worked quickly and ignored him.

“Serafina, look at me!”

And she did, her eyes so dark now, so angry. Her lips were pressed tight together, becoming thin lines of displeasure. The edge of her jaw twitched as her teeth ground together, and her fists were clenched tight into the oiled canvas she was rolling, her knuckles a stark white against the blue material. “What do you want from me, Alistair!”

So many things. Too many to start naming, too many to be able to name. He wanted her heart, her love, he wanted to know why she chose this, wanted to know how she could act like there had been nothing between them. He wanted to know how she could stand there and look at him like she hated him, when he hadn’t done anything to her. He stepped closer, his mouth moving as he looked for the words. Her hands tightened even more on the canvas, her back straight and rigid as she watched him. Don’t corner a mage. His templar training tried to warn him. At least, not unprepared. But he wasn’t prepared. She was only a few feet away now, if he could just... Do something. He didn’t know what exactly, but he wanted to comfort her, soothe the anger, but all he was doing was making it worse. “Why are you running from me?”

“I’m not! I’m sorry, my dear king, but not everything is about you. I have duties to attend to that do not include coddling the King of Ferelden’s ego.” Her fingers finally released the canvas, fingers drawing a strap around it to keep it closed, her fingers tugging the knot in place so violently, he’s surprised it doesn’t snap. It gets shoved into her bags as well.

“That’s what you think I want? You think this is about my ego? Maker’s breath, woman!”

“Oh, do tell. What else is it then?”

“It doesn’t even matter, you stopped listening to me a long time ago, if you ever did.” He threw his hands up. Really, what was he doing here, if every last attempt at talking with her was unsuccessful? Sure, he had gotten further with her this time, barely, but he’d learned nothing more from it. He wondered when exactly this change in her had happened. It wasn’t right away, no. She had spent six months helping him grow into his role of king, before she left for Amaranthine, and while things had been difficult then, it was no where near how it was now.

Sleeping alone had taken the hardest toll on both of them if the shadows under their eyes told any truth, and the formal distance between them physically, but she still smiled then. She still laughed at his jokes, stupid though they were. She had entertained his ideas and debated with him as an equal in those days. She had left while he was on a tour of Ferelden, returning to a letter explaining her promotion and relocation. His visit, for all he had insisted on it being diplomatic, had been a selfish impulse to see her. That’s when he first noticed it, the cold creeping into her eyes and the distance between them becoming apparent for the first time. Since she took a knee in front of him even as her companions failed to observe the formalities.

Her brow was furrowed, frowning at him hard. She seemed frustrated, and he could see the rage slipping from her slowly as she struggled with herself, and he took another step forward. Her guard was still up, and she watched him warily. “I listened.” Was all she said in her defense, and he took yet another step, until he was looking down at her. She was right there, close enough to touch.

“So you say.”

“I did.”

He studied her face again, the scars, small but deep that were speckled across the left side. The deep green eyes that had captivated him when he was younger, so old and knowledgable even back then, but more innocent then, now they were hardened, wary. Her lips, wind worried and chapped, but a bright spot of color on her olive skin. She was so close, and not moving away this time. He pressed his lips to hers gently this time, pleading.

She was rigid again, but her hands weren’t pushing him away. Her breath was irregular now, and he pressed on slowly. She started backing out, trying to pull away, but he cupped her cheek softly, holding her in place gently. Her whole body shuddered, and then she was more pliant, not kissing back, but not resisting anymore. He had almost forgotten the taste of her, the fluttering in his chest as his arms went around her, the feel of his fingers in her hair. It was almost too much, this success, this small victory in smoothing some of the distance between them. It didn’t fix everything, but it certainly had to fix something, didn’t it?

Except her hands were at his chest again, suddenly, violently, sliding up to grip his shoulders, shoving him away. He stumbled back, confused and bewildered. She wiped her mouth like she was disgusted. “Kingly right, isn’t it, seeing something you like and just taking it?” She growled. “But, I suppose you’re like your father in that regard. At least I’m barren, that’s something.” Her lip quirked into a cruel smirk.  
He was oddly numb, though those words should enrage him, he knew. He should be raging, but he didn’t want to. This woman was a stranger to him, and he was a fool to think otherwise. Ten years had passed with nothing but letters of duty between them, how could he expect that she was still the same? He supposed this wound would hurt him later, when she wasn’t sneering at him, when it sunk in that she had taken his trust from ten years ago and turned it into a blade that sank straight into his heart.

“Alistair?” Eamon’s voice was an alien echo through the hall to his right. “Alistair? The hunting party said you were here?”

Alistair pulled himself together, turning towards the hall before his uncle appeared. “I was just wishing the Warden-Commander well on her future endeavors, Eamon. She’s got a long way to go, so it’s best if I’m on my way.” He walked straight past the older man, towards the entrance and out the doors.

The Warden-Commander herself had slumped to the ground, her shoulders slumped and her posture broken. It almost hurt Eamon to see such a powerful woman in such a way, but it was for the best. “You’re doing what it right for Ferelden, my lady, as you always have.”

“Killing the Archdemon was the easy part.” She said quietly, composing herself before getting back to her feet, wiping subtlety at her eyes. “I’d rather face it again than what I just did to him. I hope you realize this, Eamon.”

“I have never doubted the sacrifices you’ve made for this country.”

“She better be a fine woman, Eamon, warm and intelligent, patient and understanding. Soft, gracious, generous. Find him a woman that can give him everything he’s wanted. Acceptance, a family. Find him someone that can make me a distant memory to him.” Her voice was hard, but wavering. “And I will do my best to become a distant memory myself. If my mission succeeds, you’ll see me one last time, if I do not succeed... Well, this is goodbye then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my life, and you guys have been very vocal with your support of this recent fic. I can't express how happy that makes me. 
> 
> Kudos make me squee.
> 
> I have a tumblr I'm trying to learn to use: twonetter92.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

Ten years ago, she thought she had understood everything the decision entailed. She knew it had meant the end of them, the end of the happiness she thought she would never have in her life, and she had accepted that. She had accepted that it was what was needed from her for the good of Ferelden.

_“It’s not what he wants, my lord.” She said, shifting under the still foreign feeling of the armor she was wearing, the flow of magic that allowed her to wear it. “He’s made it very clear to me he doesn’t want anything to do with the throne. He’d prefer that Anora kept it.”_

_“Anora is a capable woman, yes, but she is her father’s daughter, and she’s not of royal blood. You may not understand the importance of that, but the people of Ferelden do. They need a Theirin on the throne, bastard or not.” The arl countered, exasperated at the fact that it was even nesessary to have to debate with this woman who was barely able to be considered that and not a girl. But he was wise enough to know her voice would probably be the stronger of the two come the following day. “Even Cailan must have recognized his importance, if he sent Alistair away from the front lines at Ostagar. Why else would he send away two Wardens, as smitten as he was with the Order?”_

_She could find no logic with which to argue that point with him. She shifted again, the weight of the armor bothering her less than the weight of the decision. One of hundreds that had been fostered upon her in the months since her Joining. She was surprised she hadn’t cracked under the pressure, but she supposed she had Alistair to thank for being her shoulder to lean on. Now, Eamon was asking her to sever that tie. There was no way they could be together if he were to become king. She was a mage, less than a person and more of a beast to most of the people in Thedas. It was her status as a Warden that gave her any credentials at all. “We don’t tell him then.” She finally conceded, her heart heavy. “He... If he knows in advance, it wouldn’t be good.” And she wanted this one last night with him. One last night to pretend nothing was wrong and her heart wasn’t breaking._

_“That’s probably for the best.” The arl agreed, looking almost sympathetically at her. But how could he understand? He had defied the king and married the woman he loved, while she had to bow to the whims of a nation. She left feeling numb, not even noticing the servants she passed on the way to her room, unaware of anything until she felt a warm and rough palm against her cheek._

_“Is something wrong, my dear?”_

_She smiled at his voice and the warmth of his hand, even though she thought she shouldn’t be able to smile, not with what she had to do tomorrow. But smile she did, nuzzling her face into the rough skin of his hand. “It’s just been a tiring day.” She lied, guilty about how smoothly it had come to her. She watched his face as he smiled, his cheeks still tinging pink at the overt affection. She tried to commit him to memory like this. How he looked when he was hers. The love and adoration, the devotion and loyalty, everything she had learned at the Circle to not want._

_“Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something on my face?” His hand left her face to absently wipe at his own._

_“No.” She laughed, leaning up onto her tip toes to kiss him. “Can’t I just admire the view?” He turned a deeper shade of pink. “We have a long day tomorrow, help me out of my armor?” He did so, but she knew he was blushing worse. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen each other naked, and frequently, but there was always something about the act of getting that way that made both of them blush._

She knew it would be awkward at first, especially with her decision to stay in Denerim and help him adjust to his role as king. The emptiness of her bed was one thing, she had managed to make it through, cuddling into a pile of pillows and trying to pretend it was good enough. She hadn’t slept well, not at all, but her fatigue was mirrored in his eyes, and she found comfort in the fact they suffered together. They were emotional support for each other even if they couldn’t be romantic.

She had taken solace in sharing books with him, histories and myths and the culture of Ferelden, things he were familiar with from his teachings as a templar recruit, but in more depth. She had been his sounding board for political ideas, helping him refine his wording and stance, practicing debates with him until he felt confident enough to address the issues. She had stayed behind in Denerim to help keep things together when he went on his tour of Ferelden, allowing him an escape from the political trappings he had never wanted to be a part of.

She hadn’t thought that it would get harder, and yet it was. After every extended absence, seeing him was simply harder. Seeing the changes to his face, the weariness, the anger, the concern, everything she wasn’t present to help him with. Trying to hide any new hurts of her own so he didn’t blame himself for being stuck on the throne and not at her side, where he probably would still prefer to be. It was hard to see the throne where a queen should sit and finding it empty, and wondering if it was the memory of her that kept him from finding one. Wondering if it would hurt more when she returned and found it’s vacancy filled.

In time, acting indifferent to him had stopped working. While they had mutually decided that they couldn’t continue their relationship with him on the throne, and her being a mage, they both still wanted. His resolve had started weakening, she could see it in the relief in his eyes when she would enter the throne room under her own power, perhaps with new scars, but still whole and functioning. She could see it in his smile and his attempts to joke with her, and in the hurt in his eyes when she stuck to business and refused to rise to his goading. Her resolve couldn’t falter, so she tried to harden herself, pushing him as far away as she could, trying to keep her interaction limited to letters and short visits that happened less and less frequently.

How could she have said those things to him? She knew that his father’s indiscretion was a sore point with him. He had never even wanted to tell her about her parentage. His lips were on hers, though, and her heart had been pounding and she found herself more tempted in that moment than by anything a demon had ever tried to offer her. She couldn’t allow that, so she had to lash out, and it was the only thing she could think of to make him stop cold.

Of all the things she had done since leaving the Circle, this was the one thing she thought she would regret most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take prompts on tumblr now! theflamingnymph.tumblr.com
> 
> Comments make my day, kudos make me squee, and this entire story is making my brain so angsty, I love it.

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments and reviews, they make my day. Kudos make me squee. Without these, I honestly would lose faith in my writing ability. 
> 
> The ending of this chapter... it almost broke me. I hate being mean to Alistair, and at the same time... I love writing angst.


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